Mazebound
by Lady Besteth
Summary: Lark finds himself trapped in a hedge maze with his master. Slash.


It was a slow morning in the Traxen magic shop; Lark busied himself with dusting the shelves of merchandise and organizing the baskets of herbs and feathers and rocks and bones. Schaff, the snarky shape-shifting machiran, had wandered off some time ago to spy on the newest addition to the castle--a silver machiran slave named Kivixl. Alone in the shop, Lark kept casting nervous glances through the doorway into the back room, which led to the spiral staircase that went up to Lord Sactaren's workshop...and bedroom.

Suddenly, the latch on the shop door rattled and the door slowly swung inward, allowing a small, hunched figure wrapped in a tattered old cloak to hobble into the shop. Pale, gnarled hands emerged from beneath the cloak, one clutching an equally gnarled walking stick, but the figure's hood was pulled so far forward their face was hidden in darkness. Careful not to startle them, Lark stepped out from between the cluttered shelves.

"How may I help you?" he asked. If it was something simple, like arthritis or constipation, he wouldn't need Schaff's help. Anything more serious and he'd have to yell down the hall for the furry pain in the ass.

"I need..." They mumbled something in a thin, wheezy voice. Lark stepped closer and leaned down, his eyes watering from the thick smell of sweat and liniment surrounding the hunched figure.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," he said.

"I need..." Once more, their voice trailed off.

"I'm sorry," Lark said again, "I can't hear you." The figure raised their walking stick and pushed him aside with surprising strength. They hobbled over to the shelves of raw ingredients and snatched up a spray of lavender and a handful of mullein leaves in their claw-like hand. "Is that everything?" Lark asked as they held out the herbs toward him. He reached out to take them and package them up in brown paper, but as soon as his hand touched the leaves, there was flash of golden light and a sound like bells ringing as an icy tingle raced up his arm. Then everything went black.

~*~*~*~

Lark groaned and opened his eyes, his face pressed into what felt like deep, soft grass. He slowly raised his head, squinting as he took a look around. He was outside, lying in the grass, surrounded by high, dense hedge walls, with thorny vines growing all though the thick evergreen foliage.

"Where the hell am I?" he wondered aloud, and started to push himself to his feet, but froze as the grass sent a strange, tickling sensation along his body. He was naked. Scrambling up off the ground, he turned a circle, searching for his clothes, but the little alcove held nothing but the imprint of his body in the grass. For a moment, he felt trapped, vulnerable, and the panic started to rise in his chest, a tight, smothering feeling. Then he noticed a gap between the walls of the hedge, and he darted through, emerging into a straight, narrow passage that led off in either direction before appearing to dead end some distance away. He was in a maze.

Both ways appeared identical, so he turned to the right, the grass springy beneath his bare feet and the sun warm on his back as he hurried forward. He came to an opening in the hedge and he stepped through, stopping in the middle of another empty alcove. Going back to the main path, he continued on. The next opening led to a side corridor that twisted and doubled back on itself several times. Turning a sharp corner, he crashed into someone and stumbled back, falling against the wall of the maze, the long, sharp thorns scratching deep into his shoulder and hip. A strong hand grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the hedge.

"There you are," Sactaren said. "I've been looking all over for you."

"M'Lord, what--" The question died upon his lips as he took a look at his master. Always beautiful with his fancy hair--this time wild and platinum blond--his delicate facial structure, and his large and exotic pale blue eyes, Sactaren's golden skin seemed to glow in the sunlight as he stood, naked as woodland forest spirit. Lark couldn't help but stare.

After a moment, Sactaren cleared his throat. "What were you going to say?" Lark felt the heat rise into his face and he quickly looked away.

"I-I don't remember," he stammered, trying to resist the urge to cover himself with his hands, but that would do little good. It wasn't just the nakedness that made him uncomfortable, it was that all his scars were clearly visible in the bright sunlight, and Sactaren seemed to be having just as much trouble not staring as he had.

"I think you were going to ask what we were doing here," Sactaren said and Lark nodded. That sounded about right. "I don't know. I came downstairs to speak with you about last night," Lark felt himself flush again at the memory, "and I found you lying unconscious on the floor. When I touched you to see if you were breathing, I felt a spell move from you into me, but before I could do anything to stop it, I blacked out. I woke up here, in this gods-forsaken maze. Do you remember what happened?"

Lark nodded. "Someone came into the shop--an old man or woman, I couldn't tell which. They had their hood up. They wanted some herbs, lavender and mullein, and when I tried to take the herbs from them, I-I saw a flash of golden light and felt the magic...and then I woke up in here."

"Golden light, hmm?" Sactaren said with a grimace. He looked up at the clear blue sky above the towering hedge walls and shouted, "Damn you, Jan!"

"Jan...You mean Lord Besteth?" Lark asked. He had only met the green mage once, but that was more than enough. "Why would he do something like this? I mean, we just helped him--"

"He owes me a favor, not grattitude," Sactaren said. "This is exactly the kind of twisted prank that he likes. I hope he's getting a good laugh out of this, because I'm going to make sure the favor I ask for is the most demeaning, degrading, disgusting act I can think of. Do you hear me, Besteth?" Lark couldn't be sure, but it looked like the thorns on the nearby walls grew longer and sharper in response to Sactaren's threat. Speaking of thorns, Lark looked down at his stinging hip, long, thin lines of blood written darkly upon his skin. His shoulder hurt worse, and when he reached back to feel the damage, he yelped in pain.

"Here, let me see that," Sactaren said, stepping around behind Lark. Lark craned his neck to keep Sactaren in sight; he didn't like having anyone behind him that he couldn't see. "One of the thorns broke off. Hold still." Lark tried, a pained whimper escaping him as Sactaren tried to pick the thorn out. "I can't get a hold of it," Sactaren said. "Maybe..." Lark stiffened, his breath catching in his throat as he felt the soft, warm touch of Sactaren't lips against his skin, felt the sting as Sactaren sucked at the wound, felt the sharp pain as Sactaren grabbed the end of the thorn in his teeth and pulled it free.

"Thank you," Lark said as Sactaren turned away and spat out the thorn and blood.

"You're welcome," Sactaren said, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Now, let's get out of here while there's still daylight." A systematic search of the maze brought them eventually to a neat little garden of herbs shaded by an old willow tree and fed by a crystal clear spring. They drank and washed Lark washed his wounds while Sactaren inspected the garden, returning a moment later with a handful of fragrant rosemary sprigs. He peeled a strip of bark off a willow branch, divided the rosemary into two bundles and wrapped esch one with a piece of bark, dipped everything in the stream, and then held each bundle against Lark's shoulder and hip. Lark felt a cold trembling inside himself as Sactaren worked the healing spell, his shoulder and hip tingling as the skin knit back together.

"Thank you, Nae--" he said, but Sactaren grabbed him by the arm.

"Don't think my benevolence gives you the right to be familiar," he said, a hardness in his voice. "I'm just taking care of my property."

"Y-yes, Lord Sactaren," Lark said, reflexively lowering his eyes to the ground and cowering before his master. "I-I'm sorry."

"I'll forgive you, this time," Sactaren said, "but should you forget again..." He leaned close, his lips brushing the shell of Lark's ear as he whispered, "Jan could be listening. I'm sorry, but you need to be my slave until we get out of here." Lark kept his head bowed and tried not to let his relief show as he hastily nodded his head.

"Yes, Master. I understand."

Hey left the garden and wandered through the maze until the sun set and the sky faded from blue to silver to indigo, the pale green moon, Id Erith, only a sliver hanging in the sky, its faint light no help to see by. As the darkness descended upon the maze, the temperature dropped and the wind grew cold. Finally, Sactaren was forced to call a halt to their search.

"I can't see a damn thing," he complained as they tramped down one side-path. "We could walk right past the exit and I'd never see it. Damn you, Jan, when I get out of here, I swear--"

"M'Lord, look," Lark said as the passage opened out. It wasn't the exit, but under the circumstances, it was the next best thing. A spreading apple tree, heavily laden with ripe fruit, stood in the middle of the alcove, its branches nearly touching the ground. It would provide them with both food and shelter. Ducking between the branches, Lark crouched in the deep grass. It wasn't exactly warm, but it was protected from the wind. As they sat and ate the crisp, juicy apples, Lark glanced over at sactaren.

"Do you suppose Lord Besteth is still watching us, M'Lord?" he asked. Sactaren shrugged.

"I don't know why he would be. We haven't done anything particularly entertaining and we're getting ready to sleep now. He probably lost interest some time ago." Lark hoped so. Once they had eaten their fill of apples, Lark lay down on his back, staring up through the dense foliage above him at one or two tiny patches of starry sky. He was very aware of his master's proximity as Sactaren lay down beside him, and his thoughts drifted unerringly back to the previous night.

"It might be warmer if we were to share our body heat," Sactaren said suddenly, startling Lark from his thoughts. "Perhaps you could...slide up behind me." Lark's heart began to pound as Sactaren rolled onto his side, facing away from him. Hesitantly, Lark rolled over, his hand shaking as he placed it on Sactaren's side and tried to keep a certain part of his anatomy from touching his master. A rogue thought flashed through his mind and he stiffened--in more ways than one--his mouth going dry as Sactaren took hold of his arm and pulled it across his chest, drawing Lark right up against him. "Relax, Lark," Sactaren murmured after a moment. "I don't think Jan is watching."

"That-that's not..." Lark didn't know how to explain his problem, but a moment later, he didn't have to. Sactaren squirmed back against him and he felt his arousal press against his master's butt.

"Oh," Sactaren said as Lark squeezed his eyes shut, his face burning. "Oh, I see. Well...I wouldn't worry about that too much, Lark. Your condition is hardly unique tonight."

"My...You mean...You are, too?"

"Of course," Sactaren said. "I've wanted to sleep with you since I bought you, and last night..." He sighed. "It took every ounce of willpower in me to turn you away. I don't think either of us was ready for what you were offering. After what you've been though, I need to be a better man than I am before I can trust myself not to screw everything up."

"But...but you wanted to," Lark said. Sactaren laughed.

"I always want to. That's never a problem. The problem is whether or not _you_ want me to."

Lark drew a slow breath. "I...I don't want to," he said at last. "I don't think I ever will _want _to, after what they did to me, but I-I would let you, if you wanted to, if you were careful and it didn't hurt too much."

"Oh, Lark," Sactaren whispered, pain in his voice as his grip on Lark's arm tightened. "It doesn't have to hurt at all. Someday...I'll show you someday, I promise." Lark wished he could believe him, but just the thought of having another man inside him made him hurt, his body tensing, heart racing. He didn't know what to say to Sactaren's promise, and after a minute, Sactaren sighed. "We should go to sleep," he said. "We'll need our strength to get the hell out of here tomorrow, and Maele only knows how far from the castle we are." Lark hadn't considered that. He didn't relish the thought of wandering naked across the countryside. "Good night, Lark."

"Good night, Nae--I mean, M'Lord--I mean, Naeven." Sactaren just chuckled. Lark closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but it was hard--mainly because he was. After a while, Sactaren began to hum, and then, softly, to sing.

"Sho kuran benchu

Di aet malrnaet imujz'an

Vanh'et jer kh' atentia il ujz'u Dan venfen

Vanh'et bas kh' haz imujz'an jisoli mek sho

Kuran benchu Di aet adh'et esnakt' infen

Di aet jisanli benkan...

Benchu..."

"That's pretty," Lark said into the silence. "What does it mean?"

"Oh, it's just...it's an old song. I'm not that good at translating Astaniko, but it's something like, 'Maybe someday

We'll understand everything

We'll put an end to our all our doubts

We'll find a way to make things better and

Maybe someday we'll live without fear

We'll be better off somehow...

Someday..."

"Oh," Lark said, the significance of Sactaren's song choice not lost upon him. After a moment, Sactaren began to hum again, and Lark closed his eyes. Maybe someday...

~*~*~*~

Lark was having a wonderful dream. He was relaxing in Sactaren's huge bath, the steaming water pouring in from an underground hot spring, when Sactaren appeared out of the clouds of steam, naked, his golden skin glistening with drops of moisture. He descended the steps into the water and walked over to where Lark sat, climbing onto his lap. Lark felt his hard flesh press between Sactaren's cheeks and he wrapped his hand around his master's straining member, a low, guttural moan escaped Sactaren as Lark stroked him.

Lark woke with a start, his entire body tensing as he realized that not all of it had been a dream. They were still spooning, and his hand was closed around Sactaren's arousal, his own wedged between Sactaren's cheeks. For a long moment he held his breath and didn't dare to move. Which was worse, to remain as he was or to wake Sactaren as he drew away? Finally, he couldn't take it any more. He started to straighten his fingers and lift his arm off Sactaren's side.

"Lark, please," Sactaren whispered and Lark froze again. Was he talking in his sleep? "Please don't stop."

"But my hands--" They were lined with rows of calluses.

"Are not as rough as you think. I've longed for your touch; I need it. Lark, please..." Lark felt strange pleasuring his master, but he was a slave--he was trained to obey. Slowly, he began to stroke Sactaren's erection and the slender mage moaned, pushing back against him, Sactaren's hands clutching at his arm. "That's it...that's it...a little more..." He suddenly reached down, cupping the head of his own arousal with his hand as his body stiffened and he cried out, catching his seed as he spilled himself.

When he grew quiet and relaxed back against Lark, Lark stopped stroking and pulled his hand away. He needed to take care of himself now. He couldn't ask--He couldn't even think of asking Sactaren to do it. Maybe he wouldn't need to ask. Sactaren pulled away from Lark and reached between them, but rather than touch Lark's aching erection, he worked his fingers between his cheeks, smearing his opening with his own semen.

"What...what are you doing?" Lark asked.

"Nothing you need to be worried about, Lark. Just lie still for a minute. I'll take care of you next." Lark trembled inside at the promise, his flesh throbbing at the prospect of having Sactaren's soft, delicate hands upon him. But Sactaren touching himself in such a manner still made him uneasy. It was almost as if Sactaren were preparing himself to be fucked. While none of his former masters had ever been considerate enough to afford him that kindness, Lark was well aware of what the blue lubricant they sold in the magic shop was used for.

Finally, Sactaren stopped touching himself and turned his slippery fingers on Lark, slowly stroking Lark's shaft. Then Sactaren slid back against him, his hand guiding the head of Lark's arousal to his entrance. Lark grabbed his hip and held him still.

"Naeven, don't," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "I-I can't."

"It's okay," Sactaren replied, pushing insistently against him.

"No, Naeven, it's not," Lark said. "You've been so good to me, so kind and generous, and I cannot--I will not hurt you. I can't." Sactaren didn't move, didn't speak, and Lark bit the inside of his lip, afraid that he'd angered or offended his master. After a long moment, Sactaren pulled away from him and sat up, turning to regard him with a desperate and pained expression.

"It doesn't have to hurt," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Making love with someone is the most beautiful, tender, _mutually_ pleasurable experience two people can share, and someday...Someday, I will make love to you. Right now, though..." He leaned down and kissed Lark, his soft lips hungry and demanding. Lark opened his mouth to him, groaning softly, as Sactaren's tongue delved inside his mouth, exploring, claiming him. A hand touched his shoulder, gently pushing him over onto his back, and Lark tensed, the breath catching in his throat as he braced himself to be held down, to be hurt.

Sactaren shifted his hand to the ground next to Lark's shoulder, bracing himself as he leaned over him, soft, silken hair brushing Lark's cheeks and brow. Lark reached up, tangling his hands in that fine, white-gold mane, his body arching off the bed of grass, his hips rocking on their own as he sought relief for his throbbing flesh.

He froze as Sactaren swung a leg over his, straddling his waist, Lark's hard member caught beneath him. Sactaren broke their kiss just enough to whisper, his lips moving against Lark's.

"It's okay, Lark...you're all right. Neither of us going to be hurt. Just relax." Lark trembled as Sactaren kissed him. "Trust me," Sactaren begged, and when he reached back to guide Lark to his opening, Lark didn't try to stop him. Lark's mouth went dry and his heart began to pound as he felt the head of his arousal press against that slick, tight entrance. How could it not hurt? He didn't understand. It always hurt. Blue eyes fixed on him, Sactaren slowly sank down and Lark gasped as the muscles gripped him, clenching a moment before relaxing, allowing him to slide inside.

"It doesn't hurt, Lark," Sactaren said, breathlessly. "On the contrary, you feel amazing." He rocked his hips, taking more of Lark into him, and a quiet whimper escaped Lark as he fought not to thrust up into his master's hot, willing body. He groaned as Sactaren began to move on top of him, riding him. He couldn't believe how good it felt. Sactaren sat up further, bracing his hands on Lark's chest for better leverage, and Lark stiffened, a moment of panic racing through him. He was trapped, helpless, pinned in the grass--Without thinking of the consequences, he grabbed Sactaren by the shoulders and rolled them sideways, until Sactaren lay in the grass, staring up at Lark with wide blue eyes darkened by slivers of red.

Lark felt himself on top of his master, inside of him, and tried to pull away. "I-I can't do this," he stammered as Sactaren's hands gripped his arms, the mage's long legs wrapping around his waist. "Naeven, this is wrong. A slave shouldn't top their master."

"I thought a slave was supposed to do whatever their master wanted," Sactaren challenged. "I want this. I want you, like this. Make love to me, Lark, or so help me Maele, I'll sell you to Drumar." Lark doubted that Sactaren would do that--Drumar would torture and kill him--but he didn't feel like tempting Sactaren's dark, vindictive streak.

"Just...promise me one thing," Lark whispered. "Don't let me hurt you."

"I won't, Lark. I promise," Sactaren said, and Lark gave in, lowering his body onto Sactaren's, covering the slender mage as he braced his elbows in the grass and buried his hands in Sactaren's hair. He captured his master's lips in a deep, slow kiss as he began to rock his hips, tentatively thrusting into Sactaren's tight heat. Sactaren moaned into Lark's mouth, raising his hips off the ground to meet each of Lark's hesitant thrusts as his hands moved like silk up and down Lark's back, clutching at him, clinging to him. "More," Sactaren pleaded between kisses. "Harder...deeper...fill me, please."

Lark couldn't say no. He was a slave, and for this master, he wanted to be a good slave. He would do anything Sactaren asked of him. Especially if it felt this good. Lark had never experienced anything like this, had never imagined that such a vile and degrading act could be so intimate. What he was doing to Sactaren was little different from what his masters had done to him, and that thought made his chest grow tight, but instead of fighting it, like Lark had always done, Sactaren seemed to welcome the intrusion. In fact, it wasn't an intrusion. Sactaren wanted it, begged for it, and when Lark finally eased into him as far as he could go, Sactaren locked his ankles behind Lark's back, holding them motionless in a most intimate embrace.

"It's been years since I let any man take me," Sactaren whispered, his whole body trembling beneath Lark. "I had forgotten that it could feel this good."

"I-I never knew anything could feel like this," Lark replied. They kissed, tongues tangling, and Sactaren uncrossed his ankles, releasing Lark, who began to move again, this time with more confidence. He worked his flesh in and out Sactaren's body, each time a little faster, a little harder, and though his heart leaped into his throat at every noise and twitch that Sactaren gave, the mage's face never showed even a hint of pain. He gasped and writhed, strangled cries of ecstasy escaping his parted lips, and Lark couldn't tear his eyes away. He had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

"Oh! Oh, Lark!" Sactaren shouted suddenly, his hips bucking as he came, his seed warm and slick between their bodies. The sudden tightening of Sactaren's passage gripped Lark like a fist and he shuddered, crying out as he spilled himself inside his master.

As soon as the gasping and shaking and moaning stopped, Lark pulled out and scrambled away, his heart pounding in his ears, and not from the exertion. His stomach was smeared with semen, the smell making him want to vomit, and he couldn't stop staring at his master's ass. He had fucked him. He had fucked his master.

"Lord Sactaren, I-I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, finally averting his eyes as his master sat up. How could he have been so stupid? Slaves were not supposed to do things like that. Now his master would...he would...Lark wasn't sure what Sactaren would do. He had started it, after all. Was it another of his stupid tests? If so, then Lark had failed spectacularly.

"It's all right, Lark," Sactaren said, reaching out and plucking a handful of leaves from off the apple tree that stood over them. He used them to wipe the mess of his own skin and Lark quickly followed suit. "You didn't do anything wrong." Lark didn't believe that for a second, but he didn't argue, either.

Once they were cleaned up and rested, they emerged from within the drooping boughs of the apple tree into the damp, chill air of darn, the sun not yet high enough to shine over the maze walls. Following the side passage back to the main path, Lark trailed behind Sactaren, unable to shake the guilt that writhed within him. He had taken his master. The thought seemed almost unfathomable, and yet, he could remember doing it, lying on him, holding him tight, moving inside him--

"Jan, you son-of-a-bitch," Sactaren said, startling Lark from his thoughts, which was fortunate, as Lark had nearly made himself hard again. Lark glanced at his master, and then followed the mage's gaze to see what had upset him. There, just another fifteen feet from where they stood, was the exit, the hedge walls opening out onto a golden plain, with Traxen Peak rising into the clouds just a few miles away. Lark could almost make out the castle perched on the seaward side of the mountain.

As they emerged from the maze, lying on the ground on either side of the opening were their clothes. Lark dove at his, pulling on his trousers and tunic, while Sactaren dressed at a more relaxed pace. Once he was clothes, Sactaren checked his pockets to make sure nothing had been stolen. Lark knew his pockets were already empty, so he didn't bother. Sactaren frowned and pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pants pocket, opening it and reading it to himself before giving a derisive snort.

"_Thanks for the show_," he read aloud. "Signed, _Jan_. The joke's on you, asshole." He crumpled the paper and threw it onto the ground.

"What do you mean?" Lark asked, surprised that Sactaren wasn't more upset to be seen in such a compromising position with his slave. He was always so worried about appearances, about his reputation.

"I mean, he wanted a show, so we gave him one," Sactaren said. "It was the only way he'd let us out of that pathetic maze."

"Oh," Lark said, feeling like he'd been kicked in the gut. It was just a show. Or was _this_ just a show, in case Besteth was watching? "R-right, of course, M'Lord." Sactaren gave him a sideways look that was anything but reassuring.

"Don't tell me you thought our little roll in the hay meant something?" Hastily, Lark shook his head. "Good. Because while I do like you, Lark, and I'll admit that it was fun, you're a slave and..." He shrugged and left it at that. Empty and disappointed at his own stupidity, Lark followed Sactaren across the grassland, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked. His fingertips touched something deep in the bottom of the left pocket, and he quietly pulled out a little, folded piece of paper. Casting a covert glance at Sactaren's back, he opened the paper and let his gaze play over the words written in glittery green ink.

_Don't you believe him, Lark_. _Jan_

Lark rolled the paper into a tiny ball and let it slip from his fingers and vanish into the tall grass. He didn't want to believe Sactaren, but he trusted Besteth about as far as he could throw Traxen Peak. With a sigh, he hurried after his master.


End file.
